


You Held Your Breath

by istartedtheapocalypse



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, F/M, Stydia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 15:27:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2115039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/istartedtheapocalypse/pseuds/istartedtheapocalypse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of the 30 day OTP Challenge. A series of Stydia one shots</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Held Your Breath

“What a beautiful ceremony”  
  
Stiles kept hearing it murmured in the crowd, like people came for their personal entertainment. But what was beautiful about the grey sky drizzling rain down on them while they sat and stared at a coffin? What could possibly be beautiful about Allison dying when she still had so much more she could give, so much more she could do? Scott was sitting next to him; he hadn’t looked up once the entire ceremony. He was leaning forward, elbows on his knees and white knuckled hands holding up his head as he stared down at the wet grass. His black sneakers rolled back and forth across the grass, ripping up tiny roots and exposing the mud underneath. Stiles wanted to help him somehow, to give him a hug, to say something, anything. But he knew that he couldn’t help Scott now.  
  
Lydia sat on his other side. She had started crying the first time someone mentioned Allison’s name and hadn’t stopped since. She sat stiffly, her hands in fists on her legs and her eyes staring straight ahead; tears dripped from her chin as her frame shook with silent grief. Without thinking about what he was doing, Stiles stretched out his hand and took one of her fists in his. She jumped slightly and looked down at their hands. Slowly, she relaxed her arm and opened her balled up fist so that their fingers interlocked.  
  
His heart was racing, he tried to tell himself to get a grip. This is Allison’s funeral. He tried to remind himself “this is not just some hot hand holding action I’m getting, this about being there when she needs me.” Her hand was soft and warm. “I’m so pathetic,” he thought as he stroked his thumb slowly across her knuckle. They stayed like that, hand in hand while people in black stood up all around them grabbing their bags and coats, and kids, ready to move on with their lives. The three of them just sat there. They stayed and watched as the coffin was slowly lowered into the ground. They stayed while someone gathered up the chairs around them. Scott stood up suddenly and followed the migration of black figures down the gravel path without a word.  
  
When Lydia finally stood, he loosened his hold on her hand to let her go, but she kept a firm grip on his hand and dragged him along. They walked across the slick grass to the edge of the grave and looked down; the dark coffin was sprinkled with mud. Tightening her hold on his hand, she pulled him away from the funeral site. Her feet skidded and rolled as she stumbled down the gravel road, away from Allison. She stopped when she saw her car. “Lydia?” she turned her head towards him, he could see a tear rolling down her cheek. “Lydia, are you okay?”  
  
“No.” and then she crashed against him like a tidal wave. And she finally released his hand so he could wrap his arms around her.


End file.
